


He's Loyal, But Is He Loyal?

by Bam4Me



Series: This Is More Comfortable [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, I like embarrassed boys, Is that a fetish cause it's my fetish?, Jon does not really like the brotherhood though, M/M, Mentions of Arya running around Westeros and killing people, ONLY BRIEFLY THO - Freeform, PTSD, Sansa and Davos have basically adopted Johnna and Willa, Sharing a Bed, Size Kink, Teasing, This amuses Jon and Sansa, Warg!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bam4Me/pseuds/Bam4Me
Summary: Winterfell gets some visitors, and some news. Varied reactions abound.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has officially become my new trash series. Congrats, me.
> 
> littlesforfandom.tumblr.com

Jon let out the most  _ undignified  _ squawk when he came out of the warg trance, and found himself immediately attacked by the bird he had been inside. He yelped when the damn thing bit his ear and jumped back, bumping into Tormund’s chest, the bigger man laughing as he shooed the bird away and held the northern king close to protect him from any more foul fowls. The other free folk around them all seemed amused, laughing at him as well, so Jon assumed he hadn’t messed up too badly, though his cheeks did heat up at the reminder of it.

 

“I could have sworn I had gotten into it’s mind.”

 

One of the other wargs -who have been teaching him to control his power and use it to his advantage- held out his arm for the annoyed crow to land on his arm, cooing at the angry little thing before giving him dried meat as an apology. “You did it right, you got into his head, but this one is a little stronger than most, since he’s used to having me in his mind. I use him for training young wargs, because if they can keep a hold of him for long, they can grab a hold of any animal. You say you’ve been in an animal before?”

 

Jon flushed a little, letting Tormund lead him back to a log around the campfire, setting him down there so he could get warm again. He’s starting to feel spoiled, constantly locked up in the castle where it was so hot, coming outside, he feels a chill in his bones that hadn’t been there weeks before. “A dragon, yes. I’ve been dreaming of it for years. Up until recently, the feeling of it had always made me sick. I never dreamt of it for more than a minute or two before waking. The sensation of it still makes me feel faint.”

 

Tormund sat on the log next to him. They were outside the slowly building Winter Town, which seemed to be coming along better than Jon had expected. Though, this many people all working to build themselves a home, no wonder it was coming along so fast.

 

Tormund snorted. “Feel  _ faint _ , like you’re some delicate maid-”

 

“Shut up, Tormund, your king commands it.” Tormund looked at him in shock for a moment before laughing.

 

“My  _ king _ would do better to heed my commands, than I would his.”

 

Jon could feel his cheeks flushing, and blamed it on the cold. He really did spend too much time in the castle, he should come be with the free folk more often. The others around them looked fondly amused, which was better than the thinly veiled disgust and confusion that anyone from south of the Wall gave them both when Tormund went this far in his teasing.

 

People from south of the Wall, did not take to their coupling as well as northerners, nor did they take to the idea of a  _ king _ taking orders from his  _ wildling lover _ . A beast, they called Tormund behind his back - because none of them were dumb enough to say it to his face. A brutish man who takes advantage of their king’s love for free folk, to bed and command him.

 

As if Jon did not freely give it to him, want it even.

 

Beg for it, if Tormund was feeling particularly roguish that day.

 

Only just that morning, Jon had been reduced to primal begging as his lover had kept him on the brink of release for what felt like hours, and there wasn't a moment of it that Jon had not loved.

 

Still, where he would hold his head high in front of southern distaste to his character, blatantly defying their dislike of his lover and character, he instead hid his burning face in Tormund’s shoulder now, embarrassed.

 

As embarrassed as he was, Jon couldn't help but feel content at being surrounded by those he would call his friends.

 

***

 

It was when Jon was sitting, legs splayed across Tormund’s thighs, that he made the observation. He gently rocked upwards, his own naked cock sliding against Tormund’s, and used both hands to gently circle around both of them while Tormund lay back in the bed.

 

“You were not wrong when you called me small, or maybe it is that you are so big everyone looks small in comparison.”

 

He was trying to go for lewd, but the other man just laughed at him, flipping their positions over so he was in between Jon’s legs. “I’m bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, Jon Snow.”

 

“Good. I like that.”

 

***

 

The next day, Sansa came to them as they walked from the dining hall, intent on leaving the castle to speak with the wargs and oversee the building of Winter Town.

 

“You must come with me to the ramparts. We have them locked out with the free folk keeping an eye on them so they do not try anything, but they wish to speak with you Jon.”

 

They both looked surprised at that. “Who’s at the ramparts?”

 

Sansa paused, giving Jon an odd look. “The Brotherhood Without Banners. And they have a new member it seems, Sandor Clegane.”

 

Jon and Tormund followed her out to the ramparts. “What does the Brotherhood want with us?”

 

“Who are they?”

 

Jon sighed. “Some group of men who were tired of the king’s rule got together and have been terrorizing villages since.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “No, they claim to be protecting them, issue is, no one wants their protection, they deem fit to force it upon them.”

 

Tormund was lost on the ways of these southerners once more, but stayed with them, the three of them ending up on the battlements, looking down at a group of men in leather armor.

 

“Your Grace, what an honor you welcome us with, locked out of your castle and guarded by wildlings.”

 

Jon took a long moment to answer, taking in the fact that they’ve been disarmed and mostly surrounded. “They prefer to be called ‘free folk’ if you would not mind. To whom am I speaking?”

 

“Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven, I am called.”

 

“I am Thoros, a red priest of the Lord of Light.”

 

Jon held up a hand to them to keep anyone else from speaking, glancing once at Ser Davos, who was looking at them with a furrowed brow. “I mean you no offense, but we’ve already had one of you try to convert us, and we’re simply not interested, I assume the free folk would be even less interested-”

 

“You mishear us, King Jon, we are not here to harm or convert you. We’re here to help you with the coming war.”

 

Jon was silent for a moment, before swallowing. “The war with the south? We need no help with that, the Lannisters would never attack this far north.”

 

“Not the war with the south, the war from beyond the Wall.”

 

“...what do you know of the war beyond the Wall?” Jon looked over when a large white thump landed on it’s hind legs next to him so it could see over the parapets to look down at the brotherhood as well, and reached over to pet the back of Ghost’s neck in greeting, knowing this probably meant that Johnna and Willa were close behind, never being very far from the gentle beast if they were in the castle - or out of it.

 

“We know, that Jon Snow, bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, and now, King in the North, is taking this war as a personal offence. I can only wonder why.”

 

Jon looked almost angry at the man, scowling. “Have you ever  _ been _ north of the Wall?”

 

“I can’t say I have.”

 

“Then you don’t know what lies beyond it, can you?”

 

It was Thoros who answered. “Of course I can, I see it in the flames, just as the Red Woman who’d been with you had.”

 

Jon was losing patience. “Then why do you question if I am to fight in this war or not?”

 

Jon waited for the answer, but before they could give one, they were joined by another, Sansa’s knight, the Lady Brienne. She stepped forward to look over the parapets with them, before turning to give Jon and Sansa a meaningful look. “That big one, the one with the burnt face.”

 

Jon and Sansa nodded. “Sandor Clegane. The Hound. He was hand to the king before he fled during the battle of the blackwater. I was there when he left.”

 

Brienne swallowed once. “The last time I saw that man, he was with your sister, Arya.”

 

Sansa and Jon zeroed in on the Hound without pause, both of them looking less tired and more angry now. Jon took a step closer to the rampart opening. Jon cleared his throat, interrupting Thoros. “Clegane.”

 

Sandor Clegane turned to look up at him, eyes as unkind as Jon remembered them. “What?”

 

Jon frowned. “Arya. What happened to Arya?”

 

The Hound winced a little, turning to look at them fully. “She left.”

 

“Left where?”

 

“How the fuck should I know. She took off on a horse after I begged her to stick that twig of a sword on my heart.”

 

Jon paused. “You begged my sister to kill you, and she left?”

 

The Hound nodded. “Aye. I believe she thought herself rather clever, getting her revenge through leaving me to suffer. That girl is a menace.” 

 

Jon blinked a few times, turning to see Tormund looking at him curiously, and gave the free man a little smile, before turning back to the ramparts. “She was well?”

 

Sandor nodded. “Aye, well enough to look smug even. She’ll be pissed when she hears I didn’t die. Though, last the brotherhood heard, there was tale of a little girl in the Twins, baked two of Walder’s sons into a pie, fed it to him, and then slit his throat.”

 

Jon and Sansa looked honestly surprised, and Jon took a minute to reply to that. “You think, Ayra had something to do with that?”

 

“No, I think she  _ did _ that. He was on her list.”

 

Jon looked over at Sansa, wondering if she had any idea what this list was either. She looked thoughtful. “Was Queen Cersei on this list as well?”

 

Sandor nodded. “She was one of the first. Then Walder. We were on our way to the Twins, where I was going to sell her back to your brother. The first thing she saw when we got in, was your brother’s body, and his direwolf sewn to it.”

 

Sansa nodded, turning back to Jon, looking a little sick. “If Cersei was on the list, she’s listing all the people who have hurt us. If she killed Walder Frey… I don’t even know what to say about that, but I can believe she did it.”

 

Tormund looked a little green. “If I meet your sister, I’m not eating anything she cooks.”

 

Jon snorted. “Well, no one else will either, she’s a terrible cook.”

 

He shook his head, a little lost, turning back to the men below. “And where were you when you last saw her?”

 

“Past the Erie. When we got to the Black Gates, we were told of your aunt’s death, so we kept going north. I planned on leaving her with you as a last option. She was getting on my nerves, I wanted rid of her at that point. Apparently, she wanted the same.”

 

Jon felt that painful clench in his chest again. She’d been so  _ close _ . He looked over at Sansa, and found her standing with a few tears slipping down her cheeks, looking like she was having trouble breathing. “Sansa?”

 

Sansa choked a little. “Oh god she was so close to me. If the guards had told them we’d been there, she’d be back with us. She was so close.”

 

Ghost let out a high whine, coming over so her could push his head into her hip, till she leaned down to pull him closer. Jon turned away to let her compose herself, looking back over the ramparts. “What is it you want? Be blunt, I grow weary of this.”

 

Beric spoke again. “We’ve come to fight this war with you, of course.”

 

“And why should I trust a band of men who left their homes to run north.”

 

“My lord, we didn’t run from our homes, we were sent north by your lord father, Eddard Stark, to find Gregor Clegane and execute him in the name of Robert Baratheon. When the war started, we were stuck behind enemy lines with no hope of going back till it was over. Many of us gave up going home at all.”

 

“Any other reasons why I should trust you?”

 

Sandor grinned at him, an ominous thing. “Because three of us are on your sister’s list. You want to see her again, she’ll come for us.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes, taking a step back to talk with everyone else on this side of the wall. “I don’t trust them. A red priest and the Hound. I never liked the Hound.”

 

Davos shook his head. “I don’t have any love for any of them, but what’s more people to fight for us? What do they gain by betraying us?”

 

“...alright. But keep them under guard until I say.”

 

Jon turned around and left without a backwards glance to them again, feeling raw inside, and more than a little hurt. Tormund followed him like usual, sticking to his side when they were back in the castle. 

 

“Arya sounds like an interesting girl.”

 

Jon slowed down enough to fall into step beside Tormund, a thoughtful look on his face. “I hope you can meet her someday.”

 

***

 

Jon watched Lord Beric and Thoros from across the table, wondering why he even bothered to invite them to dine with them anyways. It’s not like really mattered anyways. They’ve been living in the woods for the past six years, they probably didn’t care much about fine dining anyways.

 

Well, neither did Jon or Tormund, though Sansa seemed quite at home, dining at a table with possible enemies. As is life in the capitol, apparently.

 

Littlefinger seemed content to lead the conversation at any rate, letting Jon sit back quietly while everyone else went on around them.

 

He crossed his legs away from himself and turned his body to face Tormund, sitting next to him, watching for a moment as the free man considered using a fork before tearing into the game on his plate. Tormund didn’t always dine with them, usually spending their evening meal in the free encampment, checking on people and progress, though he hadn’t left Jon’s side all day.

 

He looked over at his other side briefly and found Ser Davos and Sansa sitting on either end of Johnna and Willa, the two little girls fitted in more suitable trousers and tunics. The little girls had protested the idea of non-protective clothing before having realized that they would be much too hot in the castle to play without getting overheated. Jon thought they looked rather like Arya had at that age, constantly running around with no patience for sewing needles and gossip.

 

He turned back to the conversation when one of their guests directed a question at him, and frowned at it.

 

“-is he your guard? You’ve been in his company all day, I hadn’t thought a wildling could act as a good military advisor.”

 

Jon frowned at him. He could see why Arya had this man on her list. “Free folk. Not a wildling. Does it  _ look _ like I need guarding?”

 

He was doing much better with keeping himself out of trouble, both in and out of bed, he didn’t need a  _ guard _ . The fact that Tormund stayed with him, is entirely out of their want to  _ stay _ together.

 

“Not exactly. We’ve heard of your sword fighting, I assume there’s not much need for that sort of thing inside a castle though.”

 

“Not outside of the bedroom, at least.” Jon didn’t turn red at Tormund’s muttered words, but he could feel most of the eyes of others at the table on him now, and he gave his lover a withering look. He grabbed the goblet of wine off the table and took a drink.

 

“Well now, you have your answer. What use does the brotherhood have for a red priest?”

 

Thoros gave him an odd look. “The same reason you had use of the red woman quite recently I believe?”

 

Jon looked over at Beric for a moment, considering. “Those were mortal wounds? How many times have you come back?”

 

He sat up a little, the curiosity both natural and a little morbid at the same time. He didn’t really  _ want _ to know, but he knew it’d be important.

 

“Six.”

 

Jon looked over at Tormund, who was giving him that look. The one that said he was expecting to be woken up by some pretty bad nightmares later on. “It doesn’t get any better, does it?”

 

Beric shook his head. “Quite worse, in fact. The only thing that gets better, is knowing that every time you come back, the lord willed it himself. You’re important, Jon Snow, King in the North.”

 

That made him outwardly cringe, turning his head away so he didn’t have to look at them, and downed the rest of his wine from the goblet. He stood up from the table, unable to listen to them anymore, and set the cup down. “No, that doesn’t make me feel any better.  _ Quite worse, in fact _ .”

 

He left the dining hall a moment later, Tormund following less than ten aces behind.

 

***

 

“That beast is in my place, boy.”

 

Jon gave Tormund a lazy look, half asleep where he’d been curling his fingers through the thick fur of Ghost’s side, curled up on his own side while he pet the animal. “I don’t think he cares.”

 

Tormund grunted once, and got into the bed on the other side, sliding behind the man under the covers, wrapping around his waist. “What’s he even doing here? I thought he was sleeping with the girls?”

 

Jon hummed a little lazily into the direwolf’s neck. “I think Johnna and Willa are keeping him up at night. He probably doesn’t want to end up snapping at them.”

 

“He’s a wolf, Jon, you give him too much credit.”

 

“He’s a pet, Tormund, you don’t give him enough. He’s loyal.”

 

Tormund sighed against his neck. “Are you going to wake up screaming tonight?”

 

Jon shrugged. He honestly couldn’t tell. “Probably not. I’m pissed, but not traumatized.”

 

Tormund nodded. “If a man told me I was a god’s  _ pawn _ to be played with, I’d be pissed too.”

 

“I simply don’t understand why it has to be me. Why can’t someone else do it, whatever it is? I’m tired of fighting.”

 

“We all are, Jon Snow.”

 

Hopefully, when the fighting was done, there would be enough good left to leave things be.

**Author's Note:**

> littlesforfandom.tumblr.com


End file.
